What Followed The Simchat Bat
by w8ing4huddy
Summary: Disaster strikes when Cuddy finds a gift on her desk the Monday after Rachel's simchat bat. Knowing who it's from, will she be able to find the courage, or desire, to even open it? What will House think? And how will this all go down?


Disclaimer: House M.D. belongs to David Shore. This story is just what took place in an alternate universe entirely my own, after Rachel's simchat bat.

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The Monday after Rachel's simchat bat, Cuddy stopped at the hospital's main entrance, inhaling a deep breath of the bitterly cold air as her eyes fluttered closed before she exhaled and opened the door, stepping inside. She half-heartedly returned the smiles and greetings from the nurses manning the front desk as she strode towards her office. Cuddy opened the door and turned briefly to flip the lights on before turning to her coat rack and removing her gloves. She tucked them away in her pockets and then removed the warm winter coat as well, slipping it on one of the hooks. Then she drew back her shoulders, forcing herself to move forward and forget all that was on her mind. Striding to her desk with the intention of jumping right into her work, she suddenly came to an abrupt halt and stared. There in the center of her desk was a wrapped gift, complete with a beautiful baby pink bow. Her breath caught, somehow knowing without evidence to confirm her suspicions that the gift was left there by the man who had haunted her thoughts all weekend. She shook her head to dislodge the conclusion she had come to. After all, it could have been placed there by any number of people in her hospital's employment, wishing her and her baby well. And when was House ever one for giving gifts? It was ridiculous to think that House would have gone to the trouble of buying a gift for Rachel, she told herself once more, especially when he had made his feelings about her simchat bat so clear. But no, somehow she didn't need to open it to confirm her suspicions. She just knew.

She walked around the desk at a distance, sizing the package up. And if she hadn't been so disturbed by its presence, she might have laughed at her obvious distrust. House certainly would have. And he would have taunted her about it. But the truth was that she was disturbed by it. It was like the desk, she thought then. And I know how that turned out. Bitterness crept in at the memory.

She finally sat down, her eyes never leaving the gift, almost as if she could bore a hole into it and inspect the contents without unwrapping it. She decided she couldn't deal with this just yet. Reaching across her desk and carefully avoiding the package, she shuffled some piles and then used a file to push it into a gap she had created. She wouldn't even touch it, absurdly convinced it would somehow react to her touch. House's face flashed before her for a brief moment and she imagined how he would have made fun of her hesitancy. Then she dismissed the thought and banished him from her mind, turning to the work that lay before her. Weekends always left her feeling like she was buried beneath the file piles that somehow seemed to accumulate as if by magic between the time of her departure on Friday and her reappearance on Monday. It was time to get to it.

-----

House entered the hospital shortly after 10 a.m. Though his countenance didn't betray him, he was extremely apprehensive about how Cuddy would react to his gift, which he'd come into work Sunday night just to place on her desk. He kept second-guessing his actions and had now come to the point where he was debating in his head whether he'd simply deny it was from him or just try to brush it off as nothing when she sought him out. She'd clearly told him the Friday before that she didn't want him to come; completely rescinded her invitation. And while some part of him had understood and another part had been relieved, oh so certain that going would end in failure and she'd be disappointed, hurt, and embarrassed, and he'd end up drawing farther into himself, more miserable than he already was, he knew that what he'd mainly felt in that moment was rejection. And it had stung. Yes he had spent all Friday acting as if he didn't want to go anyway, trying to talk Wilson out of going too and accusing Cuddy of being a big hypocrite. But that had all been a massive cover-up for his fear of personal failure. He didn't care if Cuddy was a hypocrite. He knew he was just as much a hypocrite for secretly wanting to go while acting otherwise. But to actually be uninvited, even if he had probably deserved it? Yeah, it had definitely stung.

Then they had run into each other at the main entrance as both were about to leave. He buried his pain as he had been doing ever since that fateful moment and light-heartedly joked with her about the weather and how maybe if she was lucky her sister wouldn't show. And then the moment to walk away came and he wished her well before pushing the door open and walking off towards his car.

For a moment there, right as he was about to leave, he had glanced at her and was almost convinced she was about to re-invite him. Probably out of guilt. The woman was prone to feeling guilty, over anything and nothing at all. But instead she met his gaze and pulled back. And then they had gone their separate ways. He told himself it was for the best. He swore he wouldn't have wanted her to re-invite him out of guilt anyway.

He stopped briefly at the clinic desk, flipping through patient files, hoping to find a good case in the odds that his team hadn't, which was probably a given as he hadn't heard from them yet that morning. Nothing. He turned to head for the elevator but before he could realize what he was doing and stop himself, he glanced into her office. She was sitting at her desk and he could just make out the top of her head, phone pressed to her cheek, her lips moving as she looked at something on her desk. Probably her calendar. More meetings, he concluded. The woman needed to take some time off. She had tried to, he reminded himself. Apparently no one else could handle being in charge of him. He felt a pang of regret and then buried it. People don't change. Even if he wanted to for Cuddy, he never would. He walked away before she could spot him.

-----

Cuddy spent most of the day buried in her office, returning phone calls, arranging for the next board meeting, and working her way through the stacks of files, signing here, noting something there. She made her rounds quickly, avoiding the fourth floor, avoiding House. And she knew he didn't have a case, so his absence in her office was predictable, as well as appreciated. No insane requests to make meant he'd avoid running into her, if only to escape the clinic as long as he could. Today she wasn't going to seek him out and force him there.

The package still sat unopened in the same place in had occupied since she had pushed it there that morning. Every once and awhile her eyes would fall on it and she'd lose five-ten minutes staring at it, lost in thought. House, always her biggest distraction, whether present or not. She couldn't bring herself to open it. Not just yet. Something inside her demanded an answer to why it was there before she'd even consider being curious about the contents. She had played out a number of scenarios throughout the day, dismissing each in turn. The only ones that made any sense at all were that it was A. a gift to either make her feel even guiltier for asking him not to come (as if that was possible), B. an effort to manipulate her in some way into something that House wanted of her, maybe a pass out of clinic duty for the next month or the freedom to waive her refusal on some extreme procedure in the future, whenever he chose to take it, OR C. a Housian motion to point out in the most poignant way possible what a huge hypocrite he thought her to be. None of the aforementioned reasons increased her desire to open it and most certainly, not option C. Hence, it sat there untouched. And she worked away, trying to avoid the moments when it would bring her thoughts back to House and what he was up to.

-----

House frowned. He didn't understand, not in the slightest. A new puzzle had presented itself and he was unable to piece it together. Well, he probably could, but that would require him to do the unthinkable and he was absolutely refusing to be the one to make the next move. When he'd arrived at his office he had greeted his team and sent them off to the clinic before limping to his desk and glancing around to see if she had been there yet, maybe to leave him a note, thanking him, rather than doing it in person. But there was no note. Then he checked his e-mails. No e-mail. Next his voice messages. His mother had called. Cuddy hadn't. Finally he knew he had no choice but to wait, confident that she would show up in her own sweet time.

Maybe she was still waiting for him to come to work so she could seek him out. Maybe she didn't know he was in yet. But as the hours passed and Cuddy never came, his frown deepened and his thoughts turned darker. Maybe she didn't know who the gift was from. But that was ridiculous. The woman was smart. She'd know. Even if it was true that he hadn't written his name anywhere on it. Then he thought maybe she didn't know what to say. That he could understand. He didn't even know what to say. But then maybe…maybe she didn't like it. That was possible, he concluded, especially considering the reality that his gift completely contrasted with everything he had said on Friday, but it was too late to do anything about that. He had thought he'd chosen well, after hours and hours of debating with himself, coming close to deciding not to give her anything a number of times. She wouldn't really be expecting a present anyway. Not from him. But in the end, he had thought he'd done well. He had called in all sorts of favors to have his order designed just as he wanted, very specifically custom-made, and then rushed to have it done in time, paying extra to ensure it would be just perfect, and when he'd seen the results of a lot of careful consideration on his part, he had been incredibly pleased, and yes, very smug. But then…maybe she wasn't.

Hour after hour past. Doubt after doubt filled his mind. Did she think it was too personal? Somehow inappropriate to their relationship as she was his boss and he just her lowly, annoying employee, and off again, on again friend? Did she consider it a joke? Did she consider him a joke? Had she immediately recognized his true feelings for her and been disturbed by the gift because it forced her to make it clear she didn't really return his sentiments – not any longer? When six o'clock rolled around and she still hadn't shown up, he gave up waiting. He had sent the team home hours ago. She wasn't coming. It was the desk all over again. He might as well accept that and go home. House grabbed his coat and cane and headed out, his expression grim.

-----

House got called in at eight the next morning, a case having come to his team via Cameron and the E.R. Honestly, he was relieved. His insomnia had kept him up all night, his thoughts looping in one continual stream that centered on Cuddy and the gift. House went directly to his office to meet with his team, not even glancing in the direction of the clinic and her office. Taub, Thirteen, Kutner, and Foreman all sat around the table, each studying various copies of the patient history.

"Who's going to tell me the symptoms?" House asked as he limped to the whiteboard and uncapped a marker. He wrote the symptoms up on the board as Kutner offered them up to him. Then the team fired off a list of plausible causes and he sent each of them off to do their own preferred tests.

By quarter to twelve he still didn't have an explanation that fit even half of all his patient's symptoms. Up to this point the patient had been a nice distraction from Cuddy's lack of response to his gift and continued absence. But he was beginning to think he needed to solve one puzzle in order to solve another, i.e. until he knew what was up with Cuddy and where they stood, his patient's condition would remain a mystery. When the patient went into cardiac arrest, he decided it was time to act.

House marched into Cuddy's office ten minutes later, demanding her approval to do exploratory surgery before the door was even all the way open.

She glanced up at him in irritation. "Don't you ever knock?" she finally asked in annoyance.

"Exploratory surgery," he repeated, ignoring her question. And just then his eyes fell upon her desk and the still unopened gift he had left there for her. His face clouded over briefly but then he straightened and tore his gaze back to Cuddy, his mouth set in a firm line.

"No," she finally told him. "Your patient just went into cardiac arrest. Do something less invasive." She stared at him, confused by his expression. He always demanded risky procedures and goaded her. That didn't faze her. What bothered her was that for the teensiest second she could have sworn his eyes had held something akin to confusion and then hurt in them. She glanced down at her desk and realized what had caught his attention. The gift still sat there, unopened. She had the sense to feel embarrassed but then reminded herself that she had good reason to be suspicious.

House nodded, unable to speak after seeing the gift still sitting there, not even touched. He needed to do some thinking and process this piece of information, ruling out what was obviously not the cause of her silence regarding the gift, as it was still unopened so that he could better brainstorm her reasons for not even bothering to open it. House turned to go but she said his name and he paused briefly before turning back to her.

"What is this?" she asked him skeptically, motioning to the present.

He raised his eyebrows. "A present," he finally said, trying his best to keep his tone neutral. The last thing he wanted now was for her to know how pained he was that she hadn't even opened it yet. He was tempted to deny any knowledge of it, to claim ignorance, but something stopped him from doing so at the last second. Maybe it was the knowledge that she'd call him on it and he might not be able to school his features a second time to hide his feelings about her apparent lack of interest in what he had so thoughtfully chose for her kid's simchat bat.

She gave him a look of annoyance. "Obviously. What I meant to ask is what your motivation was in buying a gift."

House didn't know how to respond. He had figured she'd either know why when she opened it or she'd be somehow oblivious, which he really only included as a possibility because he strongly believed women sometimes were, even when it made absolutely no sense for them to be. If she knew his reasons, either she'd respond favorably, or feign ignorance. And if she was oblivious, then he could at least tell himself that he'd tried. Again. Somehow he had failed to foresee how dismally this could all go and how depressing it could be. For a pessimist, he had really missed the forest for the trees. When was his head ever up in the clouds, seeing possibilities when the real likelihood was that the glass was not just half empty but completely void of a single drop of moisture? He certainly hadn't expected that she'd require an explanation before she'd consider opening it. Now all he wanted was to get out of there, go lick his wounds, and discover on his own the reason for her lack of interest in his gift. He struggled for something to say. "I thought about giving money but thought that you might not appreciate that," he admitted half-heartedly, shrugging a shoulder to indicate that it could have gone either way. Why did this have to suddenly be so unexpectedly complicated? He didn't know what she wanted to hear from him; therefore he couldn't just say that. He probably wouldn't have been able to anyway, even had he known, because he really wasn't gifted with explaining things like this.

"Yeah," she scoffed, rolling her eyes at him before her gaze left his and returned to the file in front of her. She returned to her scribbling but not without a final barb thrown his way. "As if you'd ever part with your hard-earned cash for anything besides a hooker. You won't even buy your own lunch. Wilson probably bought this gift on your behalf."

He stood there, her words knocking the breath right out of him. He felt like she'd just kicked him in his bad leg, aiming for the spot that would leave the most collateral damage. A knot began to form in his belly and then in anger he pulled his checkbook from his back pocket, opened it, and roughly yanked the pen from his shirt pocket. He furiously scrawled out Rachel Cuddy and wrote the check for the amount of $100,000 before scribbling in his name. He had considered doing just this thing before, contributing a sizable sum to her future education to not only convey his interest in Rachel, but his interest in Rachel's mother. Then he had crossed off the idea as something he could do down the road. He thought maybe a check would be too impersonal and Cuddy would miss what he was trying to say with his gift. Certainly she'd consider the amount a ridiculous sum, even if he had high hopes her daughter would follow in her mom's footprints, his, or even Wilson's, going into Oncology. He'd even thought that maybe he'd teach her piano and Rachel would take up music, attending Juilliard. That one day he would take Cuddy to hear her daughter play and they would celebrate how far she'd come from that day Cuddy spent searching an abandoned house for her little body, only to find her alive and being taken care of by a homeless couple. All fanciful ideas now. So she'd think the amount ridiculous. What did it really matter when she considered him equally ridiculous?

Cuddy never even looked at him. He ripped it out of his checkbook and stalked over to her desk, flinging it down where it landed directly on the file she was currently writing a note on. She glanced then at the check and her eyes narrowed before she laughed contemptuously as if at some bad joke he'd made, before finally looking up at him. But House wasn't laughing. In fact, the expression on his face was so mutinous that she sat back in her chair and away from him. He was serious? She waited, completely lost as he took another step closer silently fuming and yanked the present from where it sat on her desk. Then he turned and strode from her office, disregarding the pain in his thigh that was protesting his quick movements and letting the door slam behind him. She watched him go, uncertain what had just happened. Then a wave of dread washed over her and she thought, oh Lisa, what have you done now?

-----

House stormed back towards his office, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. That decision momentarily forced him to concentrate on something else. He tucked his cane under his arm and then juggled the gift with one hand while pulling himself up stair by stair, via the railing. He was winded by the time he reached the top but he felt a little more in control of himself. He went into his office and angrily chucked the gift in the garbage. Turning around he almost collided with Wilson, who had chosen that moment to come looking for him.

"Did I just see you come up the stairs?" Wilson asked him, taken aback. "Isn't the elevator working?"

House gave him a heated look.

"Forget I asked," Wilson said, putting a hand up to ward off House's wrath as he took a step back.

"The elevator is working fine," House grimaced, knowing none of this had anything to do with Wilson and so he shouldn't act like any bigger of a jerk than he usually was.

Wilson contemplated that for a moment and then opted to change the subject. Whatever was up with House, he was probably better off not asking. "Wanna grab some lunch?" he finally asked.

House gave a slight nod and followed him down to the cafeteria. Wilson grabbed a tray and loaded it with a couple sandwiches, fries, two ice cream bars, and then their customary beverages. They went to the register and he reached for his wallet but House stopped him. "I've got it," he choked out, passing the cashier a twenty.

Wilson turned and looked at him, caught off guard. "Are you kidding me? Wait, is this April Fools?" he inquired, looking back and forth between the cashier and House. "You NEVER pay. What are you up to House?" He really couldn't help but be suspicious of this odd turn of events.

House growled and grabbed his change from the cashier before stomping off to a table.

Wilson watched him for a moment and then followed hesitantly. He set the tray down but refused to pull out his chair until House met his eyes.

"Are you going to stand there all day? Did you run out of dying patients waiting for you to comfort them after your lunch hour?" House asked moodily.

"Listen," Wilson began. "I don't know what your deal is or what has set you off this time, but don't take it out on me." Then he pulled out his chair and sat down.

"Fair enough," House replied, his jaw clenching and unclenching. And then he pushed his chair back, stood up, grabbed his reuben, pop, and ice cream sandwich and walked away.

Wilson watched him go, completely mystified. What was that all about, he asked himself, shaking his head in confusion.

-----

Several hours passed before Cuddy worked up the courage to go looking for House. She was hoping his fury would have subsided a bit by now and she'd at least be able to offer an apology, even if she knew from his expression before he'd left her office that forgiveness would be long in coming. Regardless of whatever motivated him to buy the still unidentified gift, she had been cruel both in her assumptions and in how she responded to his vague statements when she gave him the Spanish Inquisition. Until she knew one way or the other what his motivations were, she had no right to treat him like that. She sighed as she squared her shoulders, walked the distance between the elevator and his working space, and pulled open the door to enter his conference room. The team was seated around the table going over a patient's file, but House was nowhere in sight. She glanced in his office but even though the light was off and the office obscured in shadows, she knew he wasn't just napping within. Turning to the team she asked, "Where's House?"

Taub glanced up and met her gaze. "Gone," he said simply.

"Where?" she asked, slightly annoyed at his short answer.

It was Thirteen who answered her. "Home, probably. He came back around lunchtime and was in a terribly bad mood. He ate in his office and then stormed in here. We were trying to discuss the patient and the next course of action, but he was fuming about something or other and kept snapping at us."

Foreman interrupted her and continued the explanation. "About an hour ago he went and kicked the cabinet. Hard. And with his bad leg. He collapsed but wouldn't let anybody help him back up. Fine with me because he looked like he'd just as soon punch you as accept a little assistance. It was a few minutes before he was able to pull himself to a standing position. It obviously hurt. I told him he was acting crazy and needed to pull it together, regardless of whatever set him off in the first place. He shot me a dirty look and then switched his cane to the other hand and used his right hand to hold on to the wall as he made his way to the door. I told him to go home and we'd call him if we needed him. Obviously he wasn't going to be of much use in the state he was in. I think he probably stopped by the E.R. before leaving to get his foot checked out. Cameron mentioned in passing that he had been by, though I didn't have the time or the inclination to ask any questions."

Cuddy sighed. "Call me if you can't get a hold of him when you need him," she finally instructed. And then she turned to head back out the door but came to a sudden halt when she heard Kutner say, "Hey! Did you guys see that gift in his garbage? Maybe that was what set him off."

She didn't wait to hear the rest of the team speculate. Instead she puffed out a breath of air and then bypassed the first door, heading for the door leading into his office instead. Stooping down beside the garbage she reached in and pulled out the now dented gift. Then she walked out and to the elevator, ignoring the eyes of the team upon her as she headed back to the safety of her office.

Once inside her sanctuary, she flipped the door lock and closed the blinds before making her way over to her couch and sinking down on it. She exhaled, running a hand through her hair and then closed her eyes while she inhaled a deep steadying breath. Finally, she opened her eyes and reached for the ribbon, gently tugging on its end until it unknotted for her and slipped off into her lap. She still didn't want to open it, but she didn't really feel like she had a choice anymore. She slid a finger underneath the tape that sealed the wrapping paper on one end and pried it up. She did it carefully so as not to rip the paper, more because it would take longer if she did it this way than because she wanted to keep the wrapping paper in one piece. When that end was open, she turned the box around and repeated the process. Then she turned the gift once more to pry the last remaining piece of tape free. Setting the paper aside, she gazed at the damaged white gift box before her, nervous about opening it after the fiasco this had already become. She wondered briefly if he would only be angrier at her for taking it and if she would have been better off had she left it in his trash. But it was too late for that. She also didn't need House's team to know something that right now only truly involved the two of them. And honestly, she figured she needed to understand this part of the puzzle to piece the whole together and be better prepared for whatever lay ahead. A $100,000 check, what she could only assume now to be a genuine and generous offering from House, wasn't a casual exchange of money that she could dismiss nor one she could simply acknowledge with a thank you card. The seriousness of how he'd gone about presenting her with it could accomplish nothing short of making her sit up and take notice. He hadn't been trifling with her. But before she had insulted him and pushed him, something had caused him to leave this original gift upon her desk in the first place. Now she needed to finally know, guessing aside, what that reason was. She took a deep breath, trying to ready herself. Then her fortitude crumbled and she set the box and wrapping paper aside to go see Cameron.

-----

"Has House been here?" she asked as she approached Cameron at the counter where she was busily filling out a form. She glanced up at Cuddy, her pen pausing on the paper.

"Yeah, but he left a while ago," she told her. "Were you looking for him to do his clinic hours?"

Cuddy took the ready-made excuse, leaning back on the counter beside Cameron and crossing her arms over her belly. "Yeah, something like that," she said, frustrated, though not for the reason that had been offered to her.

Cameron smiled and then turned back to her form. "If you want my opinion, and maybe you don't, today wouldn't have been a good day to have House in the clinic anyway. I think today would have been a lawsuit waiting to happen had House been interacting with any patients."

Cuddy wondered what Cameron knew. "What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.

"He's in a foul mood about something or other. He came down to see me because he needed me to check out his foot." Cameron wasn't an idiot. She had already concluded that whatever was wrong with House, probably centered around Cuddy herself, but she wasn't going to let on to her boss that she knew something was off between them; something that went beyond last Friday.

"What was wrong with it?" Cuddy asked, trying to sound like she was ignorant and not so sure she was doing such a good job of it.

"He fractured a toe kicking something," Cameron answered, slightly amused. "I gave him a look when he finally owned up to that and asked, 'You aren't going to go punch Chase, are you?' The corners of his mouth twitched up and he said, 'Foreman maybe. Aw, go ahead. Just to be safe you better call Chase and tell him to stay clear of me today too.' I laughed but then he became serious and I started to wonder. Though he wasn't really exhibiting any clear symptoms of detox, I finally asked him if he was off Vicodin again. While he's provoked a patient or two to physical violence, that episode with the Vicodin withdrawal was really the only time when I can remember him being angry enough to become violent himself. Maybe Foreman irritates him at times but I can hardly imagine him doing something that would get to House that bad. Plus, I only found him a case this morning so it's a little soon for tempers to be running out over the condition of their patient. House just took his prescription bottle out of his pocket and shook it at me. That was enough of an answer for me," Cameron said, shrugging her shoulders. "He didn't really self-disclose his problems to me. He never does. But at least I can reasonably and safely assume things won't get as ugly this time as they became when he was off the Vicodin."

Cuddy looked away, nodding despite the fact that she was not as certain as Cameron was in thinking this might not prove just as big a calamity for her as House's days without Vicodin. Memories of how House had lashed out at her back then and reduced her to a sobbing wreck sprung to mind. It was hard to look at this latest cacophony objectively when she herself was at the center of his latest icy patch and so emotionally invested in whatever would be the end result of it.

Cameron wondered if Cuddy had any clue at all as to how House truly felt about her decision to revoke his invitation to the party last Friday or if she had just bought into his act that he never wanted to go in the first place and therein failed to see through his smokescreen. It wasn't really her place to tell her House's feelings though. Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, her loyalties remained with House, despite the fact that she no longer worked for him, but for Cuddy. She then wondered if she wasn't selling Cuddy short and if she didn't know a whole lot more than she was letting on. She eyed her for a moment, suspicion forming in her head. Then she decided to continue with the story, if only to feel Cuddy out a little and get a more accurate reading of what was going on in the other woman's head. Picking up where she had left off, Cameron went on by saying, "I asked him why he would kick anything with his bad leg. He looked at me like I was an idiot and said, 'It wouldn't have done me much good to have two unusable legs.' Made sense to me. But while he was still willing to talk I asked, 'Well, then why intentionally injure yourself at all?' He raised his eyebrows and asked, 'Do you know me at all?' 'Looking for a distraction?' I asked, remembering how he once cut his arm up to distract himself from the pain he was going through with his leg and how I had to seek him out after initially bandaging it in order to change the bandage on it as it healed, for fear that he would let it get infected. When he almost imperceptibly nodded I pushed full steam ahead. 'So then, my next question is if you only do that to distract yourself from pain in one part of your body to another, where was the pain this time?' And he just glared at me. That made me think it wasn't physical pain that was the problem this time round. I told him if he wanted to talk I was all ears. You know how he is. 'Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you Cameron? Then you could fix everything for me with a hug and a kiss and send me off to play nicely with the other children.' I smiled and grabbed his toe, making sure the bone was in place. I might have been a little rough. Figured that would teach him to make fun of me for being soft. Then I wrapped it, handed him some crutches, sternly told him he had better use them, and then kissed his cheek and gave him a shove, telling him to go play nicely with the other kids."

She didn't add that after working for House so long, hearing and being forced to interpret his analogies in order to follow his logic during a case, that she was able to detect immediately upon hearing him say the words "other children," which in itself indicated peers, that in the end it would be either Wilson or Cuddy, possibly both, who would be revealed as somehow having been heavily tied to his sudden onslaught of bad temper and melancholy. Being that it took place only a few days after Rachel's simchat bat, which he had been uninvited to and had not made an appearance at, despite how she herself had encouraged Cuddy to be honest and tell him she actually did want him there, Cameron felt quite justified in thinking that she would place her bets on it being Cuddy and Cuddy alone who was involved in this drama of House's. Cameron was sure that something had taken place since that night to bring things to a head between them, but here she admitted to herself that she was clueless as to what that could be.

Cameron also did not tell Cuddy that as House began to walk away, she had called out to him. When he turned back to her, Cameron walked up to him and, positive that she was at least marginally on the right track, whispered, "You know she really wanted you there on Friday night." He had sighed parochially and looked away before replying, "No, she just felt guilty for uninviting me." Cameron had smiled at him softly before pronouncing, "If that's what you think, then you are as much a fool as she is. She came to me, wanting to talk about you. Though she didn't just come out and say it, it was obvious. She wanted you there, House." He nodded then, accepting her words while looking away to cover for the awkwardness he felt in having Cameron read him so well. She continued, "Cuddy's just…proud. Like someone else I know. And I'll tell you a little secret," she whispered then. "She's afraid of being rejected too." "I'm not afraid of being rejected," he had instantly scoffed, giving her that "you're an idiot" look again. "Yeah," she whispered softly, reaching up to pat his cheek. "Whatever was I thinking?" He smiled then, albeit grumpily, and began to walk away once more. She smirked and shouted after him, "Made you feel better, didn't I?" He snorted in amusement as he hobbled off on his crutches. "You're good but you're not that good," he called back. She put a hand on her hip, knowing he could have gone to anyone to get his toe fixed. His team could have done it for him. But he had chosen to come to her. She smiled contentedly and confidently said to herself, "Oh, I am EXACTLY that good!"

Realizing that she had been quiet for quite some time and Cuddy was still standing there, looking like she wanted to ask her something, Cameron shook herself from her thoughts and waited. Finally Cuddy seemed to change her mind about asking whatever she had been wanting to, and without any indication of her own sentiments about what was bothering House, simply said, "Well, with any luck he'll be in a better mood tomorrow."

"Yeah," Cameron replied, pursing her lips. "Or maybe he just needs a little time and then something will happen to help him see the bigger picture, whatever that is."

Cuddy looked at her sharply but she had already returned her eyes to putting the file away. Cuddy then turned and walked away, thinking that while Cameron might be a hopeless optimist, maybe if Cuddy herself could help House understand her side of things, perhaps he would then come around. Cameron looked up and watched her go, her face speculative. She hoped she had given each of them the push they needed to get this show on the road and come together. It was certainly something long overdue.

-----

Cuddy went back to her office and picked up the box, feeling a little better. She closed her eyes, told herself she could do this, and then opened her eyes, determined to focus on House's gift and whatever it might explain for her. She peeled the last remaining pieces of tape from the box itself to free the lid and then lifted it up. Holding it back with her free hand, she used her other hand to move the thin piece of tissue paper out of the way and then reached within, drawing the contents out. She gasped softly. It was a beautifully handcrafted cherry wood music box, no worse for wear from having been tossed in the trash. The packaging must have been the only thing to suffer harm.

The top had 'Rachel' carved into it in intricate letters and along the edging, in Hebrew was what she guessed would probably prove to be some kind of blessing. At she lifted it up for inspection and turned it around, she realized that the front panel was a carving of a lamb, the animal that Rachel's name derived it's meaning from. Below it was an engraving of Rachel's date of birth. Cuddy was having a hard time holding herself together now. House had done his homework.

The panels to either side of it had slots carved in to hold pictures behind two thin panes of glass. The back was flat and smooth except for the lower left corner where the initials of the carpenter who made it and the year had been carved. When she finally lifted the lid the strains of a lullaby started to fill her office. She took a shaky breath and stroked the sheen of the cherry wood with her fingertips before looking inside. Lying within was the smallest bangle bracelet she'd ever seen. She lifted it out, knowing that it was white gold and had probably cost House a pretty penny. On the top it had Rachel's name scrawled in calligraphy, three little interlocking hearts to either side of her name and then more hearts spaced out around the circumference of the bracelet. Cuddy took another deep breath and wiped away a tear before gently fingering the clasp. When it sprung open, she was further amazed to find more words engraved there. And in tiny writing it said, "May you bring your mommy as much joy as she will bring you. – H." She was bowled over by the sentiments House had revealed, sentiments she never thought him capable of and which now completely took her breath away. The tears trickled faster then and as a sob suddenly wracked her body she thought briefly about how thankful she was that her blinds were closed and her door locked.

-----

Wilson made his way to the elevator just before 5 p.m., noting House's absence from his office. He bet House had gone home. Wilson hadn't seen him since lunch and wasn't sure whether to leave him alone, give him a call, or just show up at his house with Chinese takeout and a six-pack of beer. His team was probably off running tests. He wondered if Cuddy had seen him. Maybe she would know what was going on and then once she filled him in, he'd be better equipped to respond to House's latest crisis. She was probably still here. Heading for her office, Wilson made his way through the clinic and then knocked at her door.

He heard her moving about within and then a click as she flipped the door lock open. He closed the door behind him before turning to watch her make her way back to her desk. "Why was your door locked? And have you seen House today?" he asked, getting right to his point as he set his briefcase down on the floor. When she didn't answer immediately, he continued. "Something's up. I went to get him for lunch and he was grouchy as hell. I thought it was because he'd just climbed the steps up instead of taking the elevator. When I asked about this, he told me the elevator was fine. But he was royally pissed off about something. I figured I'd let it slide, see what happened. We both know how House can be. Then we went to lunch and when I went to pay, just like I'd normally do, he stopped me and paid for both our meals." Wilson thought he heard Cuddy groan but when he looked at her she just motioned for him to continue with his story.

"Okay, well, you and I both know THAT isn't typical House behavior. It threw me off and so I asked if it was April Fool's Day or something. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because my innocuous comment soured his mood that much more. I finally told him that I didn't know what had happened to set him off but not to take it out on me. And he said, 'Fair enough,' and then walked away. I haven't seen him since. Do you have ANY idea what's going on?"

Cuddy dropped her head into her hands and took a deep breath before meeting Wilson's eyes. "That was my fault," she quietly admitted.

Wilson looked at her closer. The overhead lights were off and there was only a single lamp on in the room. Everything was kind of in shadows. "Cuddy? Have you been crying?"

She quickly reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes as they began to water once again before blowing her nose and glancing at the couch where the gift still sat, now back in its box.

Wilson was no longer sure whether it would be better to direct their conversation to House's irate behavior or whether he should just focus on whatever was troubling Cuddy. He noticed where her eyes had gone and followed her gaze to the box sitting on the couch. "What is that?" he asked curiously.

"It's the symbol of the bane of my existence," she finally managed, her tone indicating how wretched she was feeling.

"It's from House?" he queried, caught off guard. Well, the pieces were beginning to come together. House was in a terrible mood. Cuddy had been crying. He'd bet good money the two happenstances were somehow interlinked. It looked like he would be delving into both subjects. He knew then that he would probably once again serve as the go-between for his two best friends. This didn't faze him though. In truth he kind of welcomed it. Maybe this time they'd make progress towards each other.

"House is NOT the bane of my existence," she amended sharply, irritated by the thought that Wilson might actually believe House to be just that. She was also helpless to stop herself from defending House in the moment, her heart so conflicted after the day she had.

"Hey," he replied defensively, "I KNOW he's not. I just wasn't so sure if YOU knew that. Don't go making me the bad guy here. If you want my opinion, the _bane of your existence_, as you put it, is how the TWO of you are too proud, stubborn, and just too stuck in your stupidity to find a way to make things work so that you can be together." He didn't mean to be cruel, but he was a little on edge at her petulance from a moment before. House was after all his best friend and he hardly thought she needed to protect House from him. Furthermore, frankly, while there were those rare moments in their friendship when he knew she needed him to come alongside her, comfort her, and even join forces with her against a common enemy, or in regards to House, be ready to point out how unsurprising she should find the latest demonstration of his mean-spirited behavior, he also found that there were moments when he had to interact with Cuddy the same way he interacted with House, as disturbing as that thought was at times. That meant not pussy-footing around the issues, not being afraid to confront when confrontation was in his or her best interest, and not obscuring the truth with placid words or dismissing/excusing a character flaw with an attitude that says, "Well, that's just how they are and they can't help themselves."

"Thanks a lot," she said sarcastically. "You could have just stopped at proud."

He smiled then. It really did amuse him to know that in some ways, his two best friends, these two very different creatures, could respond so well to the same methods and approaches. They were like star-crossed lovers, he thought to himself, pleased with how that really did encapsulate them. He didn't know the latest drama. But he knew what it always boiled down to. "Cuddy," he began, his voice gentler. "House is in love with you. You are in love with him. What's standing in your way?"

"I am NOT in love with him," she denied hotly, looking away.

When she finally met his gaze he gave her a pointed, knowing look and said, "Yeah? Well tell me that again while looking at me."

She glared daggers at him and opened her mouth to say the words, but then closed it again, her shoulders sagging and her eyes falling to stare at the carpeting. "Well," she finally mumbled softly, "Even if you are right and he did love me, I doubt he does anymore."

He walked over to the couch and set the gift aside, realizing that it had a lot more to do with this situation than he could comprehend right now, but also aware of when Cuddy needed him to momentarily ignore the predicament she found herself entrenched in and just focus on being present. He sat down, then looked up at her and patted the couch cushion next to him. "Lisa, come on. Sit with me. Talk to me. I'm House's friend, but I'm your friend too."

She grabbed the box of tissues and got to her feet, willing to accept some comfort and advice in hopes that she'd be able to dig herself out of this mess. She sat down next to him and leaned her head back on the cushion behind her, staring up at the ceiling. "I lied when I said I didn't want him there on Friday," she finally murmured, glancing at Wilson. He just nodded encouragingly. He had known that when their eyes had met at the party after she had let in the latest arrivals and House wasn't among them. The look of disappointment in her eyes wasn't hard to identify. She had been hoping it would be him, showing up despite her words from earlier when she'd instructed him not to come. Taking a deep breath, Cuddy continued. "I wanted him there. I just…I was scared that it would go all wrong. I wanted to re-invite him. But then when I had the opportunity, my pride got in the way." The tears began to fill her eyes again and she wiped at them with an index finger. "When I came in yesterday morning there was a present on my desk. It could have been from anyone, but I knew it was from House. I couldn't bring myself to open it. I felt awful about Friday and the things I had said."

"Guilty?" Wilson asked in order to clarify to both of them what her feelings were.

Cuddy laughed and said, "Always." He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder briefly.

She leaned into him for a moment and then sat a little straighter. "I was suspicious. Frankly, House is the LAST person I would have expected a gift from. And there it sat on my desk. I questioned his motives. I thought either he wanted to make me feel even MORE guilty than I already did, it was his way of hitting me up for a favor down the road, a tit-for-tat thing, or that whatever was inside that box was more intended as a slam or personal affront. I figured maybe he just wanted to hammer into my head a little bit more what a hypocrite he thought I was and the gift was specially designed to do that. Those were the options because nothing else seemed to make sense. None of those thoughts made me inclined to open it. I decided I'd wait it out and see what happened. I just…I wanted to know the why before I chose to accept the gift and end up in a place where I then had to deal with what was inside." She looked at Wilson to gauge his face and discern what he was thinking.

He hesitated a moment before opening his mouth. "Cuddy, House has given you plenty of reasons to be suspicious of his actions in the past. I don't think even House would argue with that. And he welcomes arguments in the same way sensible people avoid them. But if I was to hazard a guess, I think it's just that…well, when you told him you didn't want him there, even though he understood your reasons, it still…hurt him. That's…shocking. It just sounds wrong! But…well, if House bought a gift, when he NEVER buys anyone gifts, and if it's even a halfway decent gift, which I don't know personally but from the look on your face I can probably safely assume, then I can only conclude that deep down inside, he wanted to be there. And while he deflected saying he didn't want to go or that it was all hypocritical on your part, and mine too," Wilson added, "Because he was on my case as well, then the truth would be that he was covering up for something he was, in all probability, uncomfortable with acknowledging even to himself; something so unfamiliar to him that even had he wanted to, he wouldn't have been capable to express." He caught the look of uncertainty on Cuddy's face and held a hand up so she wouldn't interrupt. "He's House. It sounds farfetched, hard to imagine, entirely difficult to believe. Tell me if I am an idiot and you totally think I am on the wrong track. Even I don't claim to have plumbed the depths of House's psyche. But Cuddy, would his reaction today at discovering you hadn't even opened the gift really have made any sense at all if he truly never wanted to be at Rachel's simchat bat in the first place? I don't want to misrepresent what he might have been feeling, but isn't there even the tiniest possibility that your request to stay far away was something he saw as rejection on your part? And if so, when you didn't even bother to open his gift, couldn't that have perhaps cracked that fissure a little wider?"

Wilson paused, contemplative before resuming his train of thought. "You guys bring out the big guns with one another and argue and fight as if you can't stand each other and only put up with one another because you have to. But that's not the truth of your relationship. The truth is that arguing and fighting is just a layer. I'm not sure if it is to hide your true feelings or if it is…some ELABORATE form of foreplay. Both, I would hazard a guess." Wilson laughed at the look on her face. "You can't deny it! All anyone has to do is enter the room when you two are at it and they are immediately bathed in the sexual tension that overwhelms the charged atmosphere flowing between you. No one gets you as hot around the collar as House does. And the same can be said for House when it comes to you. But the honest truth is, neither one of you would have it any other way. Otherwise you'd have fired him a long time ago for all the crap he gives you. At the same time, it's a simple fact that when it comes to the possibility of a personal relationship between you, it's two steps forward and one step back. You either tip toe around it or you make a move towards one another and then second guess until one or the other of you sabotage yourselves."

Cuddy turned to him then and asked, "Do you think he slept with that girl?"

"The seventeen year old?" Wilson asked, completely bewildered and trying his best to make the leap in subjects with her.

"No!" she hissed, shaking her head as if to indicate that was obviously not who she meant. "The one he hired to teach Taub and Kutner a lesson when they had that website in his name," she corrected.

"No," Wilson declared, his tone indicating that he knew this with certainty. "But he did treat her to dinner afterwards. If I remember correctly, they went to a pub down the street and had a few beers to celebrate their success at really having Taub and Kutner going. Why? Where is this coming from?"

She sighed wearily and hunched forward a little. "I had just put myself out there and he acted like a jerk. I was so mad at him that I never wanted anything to do with him again. I swore I was done." Wilson nodded to confirm that he remembered and then Cuddy went on. "You and I were talking and we entered my office. You complimented my desk and I told you that it wasn't the one I had ordered. It was my old desk from med school that I had put away in storage." Wilson nodded again. He was with her so far.

This was her big admission. She didn't know why she thought of it as such, but somehow that desk had irrevocably tied her heart back to House's and she had known she'd never be able to love anyone the way she loved him. She bit her lip before making it. "It was House who called my mother and got it out of storage. He was the one who had it put in my office. He even paid to refinish it."

Wilson whistled his surprise, but otherwise remained silent.

Cuddy smiled tiredly and said, "I went to find him. I figured either he wanted to make it up to me and at least be friends again OR he was trying to show me that despite how uncomfortable and unsure he was about how to pursue a relationship with me, he had made this grand romantic gesture to show me that he did truly want that for us. I went to his office, fully intending to give him a kiss that would knock his socks off." She sighed then before pressing onward. "But when I got there, she was there with him. They were smiling and laughing and her hands were on his chest. I was crushed. I turned and walked away. And I never mentioned the desk to him." Cuddy laughed bitterly before she took another tissue and blew her nose. Then she looked at Wilson, somewhat humiliated all over again just thinking about that moment.

Wilson sighed and reached for her hand, momentarily resting his on top of hers. "Pride, stubbornness, and stupidity," he finally breathed out, succeeding in making her laugh. "You were an idiot to not march your self-assured persona in there and kiss him like you wanted to, ignoring the other woman completely. And he's an idiot for not having the intelligence to know you'd come looking for him and have the sense to ensure that when you did so, he was alone and waiting for you. But that does explain why he would glance wistfully in your office in the days following the completion of your office renovation. He probably still wonders why you never said anything. I bet that rankled for a good solid week or two."

She contemplated his words, surprised to hear that Wilson had noticed something out of the ordinary about House in the days that had followed and never figured out that the desk had been from him. Finally she nodded, studying her hands as she clenched her tissue in her lap.

"What happened when you didn't mention this gift?" he finally asked, returning to the earlier portion of their conversation.

She took a big breath and threw her hands up in the air. "I don't know. This morning he came in my office, demanding exploratory surgery just after his patient went into cardiac arrest. I told him no. He noticed the gift still unopened on my desk, but I wasn't sure if I was just imagining things or if he was actually dismayed that I had left it untouched. I was embarrassed and then I covered for it by asking what the gift was. He told me the obvious answer – a present. I questioned his motives. He deflected and said he thought about giving money but didn't want to offend me. I thought he was being facetious and made fun of him. I…laughed at him and contended, no accused really, that he never willingly parts with his money for anything other than hookers, which I then reinforced by bringing up how he never pays for his own lunches."

"That explains why he suddenly got bent out of shape when I sought an explanation from him for why he was suddenly paying for both our meals," Wilson said ruefully, to which Cuddy nodded cheerlessly. "Too bad an image of that refinished desk didn't spring to mind a moment or two before those words left your mouth."

"Well, actually it was a little worse than that. I ended by suggesting that he hadn't even bought it himself but that…you had." Cuddy didn't meet his gaze, but dropped her head so that a couple locks of her hair came forward and obscured her eyes. She genuinely was ashamed of herself.

"Oh Cuddy," Wilson intoned in rebuke. Finally resigned to the situation he asked, "What happened then?"

She lifted her head and tucked her curls back, meeting his eyes now. "I went back to my work and a moment later he threw a check down on my desk. I laughed disdainfully at it, thinking he was just trying to be funny. But when I looked up at him, well, I'd never seen him so angry at me. He grabbed the gift from my desk and stormed out. I didn't know what to do or how to go about fixing the disaster I'd made of things so I…stayed away."

Wilson rubbed a hand over his face before saying, "What is it that people say? When it rains, it pours? Things usually get worse before they get better?"

Cuddy grimaced, tossing her head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling before huffing out a breath.

Wilson shifted positions and she dropped her gaze to meet his. "How much was the check for?" he asked, more curious than anything. "$25? $50? $100?"

"$100,000," she answered softly.

He inhaled so sharply she was not surprised by the sudden fit of coughing that followed.

"You okay?" she asked, turning to him and reaching a hand out to touch his arm.

Wilson nodded and then fought to regain control of his breathing. When he achieved that he wiped his eyes and let out another long whistle. "That would buy an awful lot of lunches."

Cuddy couldn't help laughing. "Are you kidding me? It's a down-payment on a house."

"Maybe I should call him stingy and see if I can get him so worked up he throws money at me," he teased.

"Not funny," Cuddy huffed, now somber. "I mean seriously Wilson, what am I supposed to do with that?! It's not the typical cash amount that you'd normally expect your child might receive at a party. How do I even respond to such a ludicrous amount?"

"What do you do with it?!" Wilson asked Cuddy, as if she was crazy. "You cash it! And the sooner, the better. Don't give him opportunity to cancel that baby! Rachel's now got herself a nice chunk of change to spend on designer baby clothes and baby Jimmy Choo shoes to rival those of her mother." Cuddy laughed at the expression on Wilson's face, thankful that he was deigning to be so flippant about this.

"Do you even think he has that much in the bank?" she questioned, plainly curious while lifting a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"First of all, you know better than I do how much he gets paid. Even if you got him cheap, I am sure you are still paying him a considerable sum. Second of all, I buy his lunches, as you were so uncouth as to highlight only hours ago to his face. If we go hang out, you can bet that I end up paying the bill. And moreover, what does he have to spend money on? He lives in an apartment, which I am sure doesn't even put a dent in his paycheck, has had his piano forever, still plays the same guitar he's had for the past oh, thirty or so years, and he isn't exactly prone to expensive suits or fancy restaurants," he retorted. "What does that leave out?"

"Hookers," she instantly volleyed as a comeback.

Wilson shook his head at her. "Not often enough to eat up that kind of cash. But do us both a favor if you would be so kind and leave hookers out of the equation when the topic of your cashing this check comes up."

She smiled widely and then tantalized him by asking, "So, are you ready to hear more?"

Wilson laughed and remarked, "That's what I love about this. There's always more with you two. Just when you think things can't get any more twisted or convoluted, you find that they can and do." He caught the semi-icy expression on Cuddy's face and continued, "Don't get me wrong! I fully admit there are times when I wish you guys could get your act together without all the drama. And I know you do too. But frankly, you are a woman. And after all, women LOVE drama." Seeing she was ready to hit him, he moved a little farther away from her on the sofa and added in an appeasing manner, "Okay, just so you know, sometimes I think House is even more of a woman than you are in this respect. But Cuddy, this is your thing. This is how you both operate with one another. Something tells me that when you guys finally DO get it together, there will be fireworks unlike anything the world has ever seen before. And it will suddenly all be worth it to you."

Cuddy rubbed her face in her hands and moaned. Then she turned to Wilson, folding her legs up underneath her on the couch. "You sure you are up for more? You've already been here with me for an hour. It's after six."

"I'm not going anywhere. This just got good," he teased.

She gave his arm a punch and smiled when he pretended that she'd hurt him and began rubbing the spot. "So I figured my best bet was to wait a while before seeking him out to apologize," she recommenced.

"Sounds wise to me," he agreed, knowing that he himself was not quick to seek House out again after what happened at lunch.

"A few hours passed and I went up to his office. He wasn't there. I asked the team where he'd gone and found out that he'd been biting their heads off ever since leaving my office, not that they knew or even suspected what was going on. He finally kicked his cabinet hard enough to injure himself and they sent him home, figuring he was being utterly impossible and wouldn't get anything done in the mood he was in. Probably true. Foreman heard from Cameron that House had stopped in to see her before leaving, but he didn't really have any more details on the matter.

"As I was leaving I overheard Kutner ask the others if they had seen the present in his garbage. Well, hearing that I couldn't just leave it there. Kutner would open it just to get to the bottom of House's behavior. That wouldn't help the situation at all. And anyway, he HAD given it to me. Even if he had also taken it back. So I retrieved it and went back to my office. But I still couldn't bring myself to open it. Hence I left it here and went looking for Cameron. Turns out House fractured a toe. She could tell he was in a foul mood so somewhat concerned she asked him if he was off Vicodin again. Remember when House punched Chase? That's what got Cameron thinking along those lines. She said that was the last time she'd really known him to turn physically violent. But he took his Vicodin out of his pocket and shook it, making it clear that he and Vicodin were still good buddies. She guessed, probably accurately, that he had injured himself to get his attention off one pain and to another. She offered to listen. He shot her down and then went home. I assume. Maybe I'm wrong there and he's off drinking himself into a stupor."

Wilson chuckled and said, "Isn't it wonderful that when House acts up, everyone in the hospital is aware of it and has some opinion on it? It's…useful. Like a patient history. Every piece of insight you can collected gives you a clearer shot at a correct diagnosis."

"Yeah, well it's also a little annoying when it involves you and your employees are speculating about your private life. By removing that gift from the trash, I've raised House's team's suspicions. And I'm positive that Cameron knew more than she was letting on. I'd even hazard a guess that she saw right through me. House taught her too well. She can read a situation almost as well as he does." Cuddy brushed her hair back out of her eyes and then went on. "Alright, so I returned to my office and finally convinced myself to open the present." Here she paused dramatically and Wilson waited somewhat restlessly for her to resume speaking.

"Well don't leave me in suspense, Cuddy. What was it?" Wilson pressed. "After hearing about the desk, I think he's set some pretty big standards for himself. How do you surpass that? Or even compete?"

She gave him a significant smile and then inclined her head in the direction of the gift, wanting to witness Wilson's reaction without influencing it one way or the other. "Have a look."

He glanced at the box, then back at her and when she nodded to indicate she was sure, he reached for it. Pulling up the top, he delved within and drew out the music box. He looked it over and then, somewhat chagrined murmured, "Well, I don't know if it beats the desk or not, but it sure beats the present I got Rachel."

Cuddy smiled and nudged his shoulder. "Open it," she encouraged.

When he did the lullaby began to play and the lump in her throat returned. "Laila Laila. That's a beautiful Hebrew lullaby," Wilson said softly, his tone reflecting his amazement while he did something she had not thought to do and elevated the box into the air until he could see the bottom and confirm that he had guessed correctly. She had thought to rewind it before returning it to the box, but she hadn't thought to look for the song's title there, even though she was familiar with music boxes and should have thought of that. "I can't believe House bought this," Wilson continued. "I mean, the House we know and spend so much time with. Granted, it's not a religious song that I know of, but all the same. That was…remarkably thoughtful. That's like…the 8th wonder of the world. I imagine he had to really do some digging to find a music box that played a Jewish lullaby. Sometimes House…can really leave you dazed and rendered speechless." Wilson fell silent, looking at Cuddy with an expression of bemusement on his face.

"I can't believe you know that song," Cuddy declared, having never heard it before.

"I think my grandmother used to sing it or something," Wilson responded. "I recognized the music. I don't really remember what it is all about. Well, maybe the first verse. I think the English translation for the actual lyrics is something like, 'Night, night, the wind blows. Night, night, the tops of the trees whisper. Night, night, a star is singing. Go to sleep, blow out the candle.' Something like that. I'm sure there's more, but that's all I remember."

"I am just astonished you remembered that much of it! Now look at what's inside," she whispered, nodding towards the contents.

When he reached within, he gently removed the tiny bangle bracelet. "You don't think this is gold, do you?" he inquired, further mystified by what he was now able to personally claim to have seen, a side to House never revealed before.

She nodded and then instructed him to read what it said. He read Rachel's name but Cuddy shook her head, crying softly once more. He reached for her to pat her reassuringly but she just directed him to look closely at the inner portion of the bracelet, blowing her nose in her tissue. When he did and read House's words he understood why she was crying. "I feel like I've just lived through some miracle of cosmic proportions or something that only happens once in a billion years. I think…I think this is the result of forty plus years repressed romanticism." Wilson set the bracelet back within the music box and the music box back within the tissue paper. Then he set it down on the floor before reclining on the couch, stroking Cuddy's back soothingly as she tried to stop crying again. "What are you going to do?"

She inhaled a raggedy breath and then dried her eyes once more, hiccupping. "I wish I knew." She straightened her back and tried to control her breathing to make the hiccups go away. "What should I do?" she then enquired of him, her eyes pleading for just the right path to take in order to navigate the insanity that was her relationship with House.

Wilson huffed out a breath of air. "Sorry. Can't help you on this one. I don't have the slightest clue."

She heaved a great sigh and looked at her watch. "I have to get home. I promised the nanny I would be home no later than 7."

Wilson nodded and then gently prodded, "Maybe you should go to him."

"I can't. I have Rachel," she pointed out. But part of her was too scared to go to him yet and she knew that was another reason why she wanted to just go home and stay there.

"I can take…" Wilson started to offer, but then thought better of it. "No. Go home. Get Rachel. Then take her with," he finally said.

"What? Are you crazy?" she hissed. "He'd hate that!"

Wilson smiled at her kindly and shook his head. "No, he wouldn't, though I wouldn't doubt it if he acted as if he did. A man who would hate that wouldn't be the same kind of man who'd go out and buy a music box customized to play a Jewish lullaby with an infant's name carved on it and an expensive little personalized bracelet inside. And besides," he added jokingly, "You can use her for protection in case he's still angry. Just thrust her into his arms and he'll immediately shut up and listen to you, hoping that by doing so, you'll take her back."

Cuddy sighed and thought it over. He was right. And she was sure that there was a limited time offer on how long she had to make this right and perhaps even turn the tables so that she walked away from this disaster with a boyfriend, rather than just a friend. She rubbed at her eyes, a headache setting in from all the tears. She was too old for boyfriends, she then thought to herself, but she smiled at the thought anyway. Moreover, even knowing House had been with Stacy all those years didn't make it any easier to picture him as a boyfriend, let alone consider what he would be like if he was hers.

Wilson stood up and helped her to her feet, drawing her in for a hug, which she reluctantly permitted, her boss persona coming back into play. "When I said he had good taste, I wasn't just speaking about the gift, you know," he told her.

She pulled back and impulsively pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before stepping away. "You are a good friend, Wilson." She then reached for her coat, putting it on before retrieving the gift from where it sat on the floor. Cradling it close to her, she waited while he retrieved his briefcase and then she followed him out the door, hitting the light switch on her way out.

As they turned to go their separate ways in the parking lot, she heard Wilson call out to her, "Don't forget to stop at the bank on the way home and deposit that sucker's check! Oh, and change into something soft and feminine before going over. Disarm him a little. He wouldn't expect that." She laughed, tossing her curls happily before looking for her car keys.

-----

House lay at home, stretched out the length of the couch channel-surfing and nursing a beer while icing his toe. He shook his head in bemusement, knowing that Cameron had indeed succeeded in making him feel a little better through what she had said. As far as Friday night's party was concerned, he really hadn't given Cuddy a reason to believe he wanted to be there. As for the gift, well, maybe in time he could forgive her enough to at least restore their odd friendship to some form of normalness. Reaching for his phone, he used the other hand to mute the TV and then called his team. With the exception of a text to say the patient's condition remained unchanged, they had left him alone since he'd left the hospital and he wasn't sure if they were going to accomplish anything if they were too busy trying to avoid calling and disturbing him after his behavior from earlier in the day.

Kutner picked up on the third ring and gave him a brief update on what they had been up to in the past few hours. House told them they were all idiots but then started going over the symptoms with them again. "What did the MRI show?" he then asked.

Foreman answered. "It was clean."

Thirteen interrupted. "But there was a spot. Might be a mass." House immediately knew by the tone of her voice that they'd been arguing about this in his absence. Thirteen obviously thought it was worth checking into.

"Yes, but it was nothing," Foreman argued. Foreman obviously did not.

House sighed. "Bicker, bicker. I feel like I'm with an old married couple. Biopsy it."

To this Taub replied in that tone of voice that clearly said, this is stupid and pointless, "The chances that it will turn out to be something helpful to solving this case are slim to nil."

"Biopsy it," House repeated, cheerfully, loving the moment of discord amongst his ducklings. "Slim to nil beats out nothing every time. We'll work with what we got."

"Aye aye, boss," Kutner said.

House grimaced and hung up. There were times when he really wondered how in the world he had ended up with these people for replacement ducklings. He wondered if he could talk Cameron into rejoining. She suddenly didn't annoy him half as much as he thought she had.

A knock sounded at his door and he became a little grumpy again. Just because he was not as upset as he had been, didn't mean he was up to company. He hoped Wilson at least brought dinner with him. Reaching for his crutches, he managed to pull himself to a stand and then tuck them into his armpits before making his way to the door. He paused briefly to chuck the bag that was now more water than ice, into the kitchen sink. Slam dunk. The knock sounded again and he testily called out, "You better have food!"

But when he opened the door, it wasn't Wilson. "What do you want?" he moodily grunted out.

"I don't have food with me but I'll order in if you'll just let me come inside," Cuddy offered, cradling Rachel's bundled form to her chest, a diaper bag and purse clutched in the other arm. From the look on her face, he knew that she knew her odds of making it inside were on the low end of the scale.

He stood there, debating with himself what his next move would be. She didn't deserve for him to make this easy, he reminded himself. And it was too late to pretend nothing had happened between them. When Cuddy was certain he was about to shut the door in her face though, he suddenly opened it wide, turning around and limping back within. His toe was throbbing dully.

She followed him and watched as he reached for the remote and turned the television off. His foot was bandaged, hiding his injury from her view. She could see that he had been camped out on the couch but when she set Rachel down there and began to undo her snowsuit, he retreated to the far corner of the room, just watching them. She immediately felt discouraged and that coming here would prove pointless. She noticed the beer on the coffee table and before she could stop herself she said, "I thought you'd be drunk by now."

Horrified, she looked up to meet his gaze. His mouth had formed a tight line and then he growled, "I think you should repackage the kid and leave now." He used one of his crutches to point her back the way she had come. Sarcastically he added, "How quickly you outstayed your welcome."

She stopped what she was doing and turned helplessly to him before she sank down onto the couch, her head falling back and her eyes shutting as she grimaced. Finally she looked back at him and humbly said, "I'm sorry, House. I don't know why I say the things I do sometimes. Please don't make me leave yet."

He studied her for a moment and then nodded slightly, turning to make his way into the kitchen. She heard him remove a glass from the cabinet and a second later, the clink of ice and the tap turning on. She finished unbuttoning Rachel and lifted her out, setting her snowsuit aside. She watched House re-enter the living room slowly, carefully trying to balance his glass of water and his crutches. She wanted to offer to help but she knew that would be the quickest way to push him into pushing her out the door. And while she was thinking of it, she vowed to avoid mentioning his foot. She looked away until he settled himself into the chair farthest from her, elevating his foot on the coffee table. Then she sighed and got to her feet. Walking to him, she bent over and set Rachel in his arms. House shrunk away from Cuddy and she closed her eyes briefly, wishing she hadn't deserved that. When she reopened her eyes, he met her gaze, silently questioning what she'd just done by giving him Rachel.

She unzipped her coat and hung it on his coat rack. "What are you hungry for?" she asked, turning back to him.

He gave Cuddy a once over, surprised to see her not in the clothes she had been wearing earlier that day but in a soft pink long-sleeved cotton t-shirt which covered her cleavage but clung nicely to her curves and blue jeans that hugged her form in a very becoming way. A string of pearls graced her neck. She looked wondrously feminine and touchable, gorgeous, but not sultry. He pretended not to notice. "Doesn't matter. Whatever you want," he replied, dispassionately.

It didn't require any effort to conclude he still wasn't feeling receptive to her presence here tonight. She forced herself to not roll her eyes. Had she really expected this would go easily? "How about pizza and breadsticks?"

He shrugged noncommittally, his eyes leaving her to gaze upon the sleeping infant in his arms. And then she couldn't help but look at them and feel a tug at her heart. She loved them, she realized. Each of them. Completely. It had taken a while to bond with Rachel, but now she couldn't imagine ever letting her go. The truth was that she felt the same way about House. And having them together, it just made her feel like her own puzzle was falling into place. She only wished she could be sitting there next to him, his arm surrounding her and his lips on her brow. Then it would be perfect. Shaking herself from her hopeless mental image, she asked, "What do you want on your pizza?"

He seemed to snap out of a far-away place in that instant just as she had and looked up at her, almost surprised that she and Rachel were really here with him. Cuddy bit back a smile and just waited, glancing around the room hoping that she wouldn't do the wrong thing and mess this opportunity up irrevocably. "Supreme," he finally said.

She turned back to the kitchen and found his phonebook, rifling thru it until she found the restaurant she occasionally ordered pizza from. She opened his fridge to peek inside, hoping he'd have something she might be interested in drinking. As luck would have it, there was a full carton of milk, expiration date good for another week, right in front of her. That would work. Seeing as there was also plenty of beer and even a full 2-liter of Coke, she figured House would be alright. After dialing the number, she waited until someone answered and took down her order. She decided to get two pizzas, just in case. He could have a large supreme all to himself and she would indulge in a small parmesan spinach alfredo. She added an order of breadsticks, gave them the address and her cell phone number, and then replaced the phone on the hook.

"She's beginning to stir," House called out to Cuddy. Cuddy stopped in her tracks. Her. Not it or the spawn or any of the other names House often used when referring to Rachel. Her. She smiled and allowed herself to wistfully think, this might just go someplace. If she didn't do the wrong thing at the wrong moment, she reminded herself once again. That was still a big if.

"She will want her bottle soon. Can I leave her with you and go heat it up?"

House looked at the doorway where she stood, waiting on his answer. He nodded curtly.

Turning she reached for the diaper bag she had set down beside the coat-rack. Reaching into the side pocket, she pulled out a bottle that she had gotten ready just before leaving the house and then she went into the kitchen to warm it.

Cuddy heard the baby making noises and then, "She's going to start crying," House informed her, his voice uncertain.

She allowed the smile on her face to bloom since he couldn't see it and then removed the bottle from the microwave. "Just lift her up until she's resting on your shoulder. Then pat her back a little. She'll be fine."

House did as she instructed but he didn't know how long he could keep this up before she'd screw her little face up and howl bloody murder. He wondered how Cuddy had succeeded in getting him to take her.

Cuddy tested the temperature and slipped back into the living room, stopping just inside to watch him with her daughter. House's concentration was completely focused on Rachel, who he held at a little distance from himself, a frown marring the skin on his forehead. But instead of crying, Rachel just stared at him, her own forehead creasing. "Shhh, "he shushed, returning her to his shoulder. "You're okay, Rachel. I've got you. Cuddy, I mean, mommy will be here with your bottle in no time." Without even being aware of it, he had started to awkwardly jiggle her. Rachel started to coo contentedly. Glancing up, he noticed Cuddy holding the bottle. "Don't just stand there. Feed the kid," he commanded, perturbed that she had been watching him and suddenly feeling very foolish for caving in to the urge to talk to the infant.

Cuddy hadn't really been able to help herself. Her throat had clogged up just watching him. She quickly attempted to put on a poker face. Striding towards him, she held out the bottle.

"Uh uh," he grunted. "You take her and feed her. She's your kid."

"But I have to get the door when the delivery guy comes," she reasoned.

"Well, he's not here now, so take her and feed her. You can give her back when he gets here," he replied, holding her out in front of him for Cuddy to take, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Cuddy bit back a smile. She figured this was a victory anyway if he was willing to take her back when the delivery guy showed up, rather than having Cuddy just set her down somewhere. Maybe Wilson had been wise to recommend she bring Rachel. Reaching for her, she lifted the baby from his arms and looked from the infant to House when he hesitated to release her. "Are you sure you don't want to feed her?" she asked him, smiling warmly.

He reminded himself that he was still angry with her and looked away, dropping his hands. "I just didn't want to let go before you had a good hold of her," he muttered, clearly put out.

She nodded and turned away, adjusting Rachel in her arms until she could control her expression again. His moments of coldness were getting to her. She sank down onto the couch and put the bottle to the baby's lips, which she greedily began to suck. Cuddy watched Rachel for a few minutes, fully aware of House's eyes on her though she pretended to be oblivious. Finally she cleared her throat so as not to catch him watching her and further aggravate him. By the time she looked up, House had already turned his eyes to his c.d. collection, pretending to be scanning for something.

"Are you comfortable? There's plenty of room over here on the couch if you want to join us and have a little more room to stretch out," she invited. Truth was, she figured he was waiting for her to start the conversation, and as she was a bit reticent to say anything, for fear it would break the fragile environment that had formed in the past half hour, she hoped he'd at least come sit beside her. Usually she thrived on conflict, but this was a little personal. Okay, really personal. This would be either the start of something or the end of something. Cuddy was afraid of what she might lose. She was even more afraid of what she might never have opportunity to experience. She'd be much more at ease if he'd sit beside her and conquer the physical distance for her so that she could conquer the emotional distance between them.

"I'm fine where I am," he stated without hint of emotion, staring at her. "You came here. I didn't go to your place. You obviously came for a reason. You want to talk, talk."

Cuddy looked back down at Rachel, trying to pull herself together. House was hurt, she reminded herself. And most of the blame lay at her feet. Even if he did act like a petulant kid at times. She sighed and looked back up at him, nodding. "Do you mind if I wait until the food arrives?" she quietly asked, willing to give a little and seek his permission if it meant she might still stand a chance here.

"Suit yourself," he answered, shrugging to indicate that it made no difference to him. She tried to focus on Rachel as he reached for the remote, turned the TV back on, and started channel-surfing, un-muting it but turning the volume down low. She glanced up at him from time to time, saddened that it had come to this, but if he felt her eyes on him, he did not acknowledge her.

Twenty minutes passed before there was a knock at the door. She had just finished burping Rachel and she stood to her feet, handing her to House before heading to the door. "My wallet is in my coat pocket," House told her casually. She thought about telling him to keep his money because she had every intention of cashing that check as soon as the bank opened in the morning, hoping to get him to at least crack a smile, but at the way things were going she held her tongue and removed the money from his wallet as instructed. She also figured that if she paid he would only be reminded of her words about mooching from Wilson. That would serve no purpose. No positive one anyway.

Opening the door she accepted the carry out boxes from the delivery guy and handed him the cash. He thanked her and she shut the door before placing the food on the coffee table. Making her way into the kitchen, she opened House's cabinets in search of plates. Then she carried them out to the front room and set them down, turning to him. "What would you like to drink?" she asked, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Now that the food was here she was running out of excuses to keep silent. Part of her was wrestling with her pride, knowing she needed to talk to him but having no desire to do so if he was going to shoot her down at every turn.

"Coke. It's in the fridge." She nodded and then went back to fill a glass with Coke and another with milk. She brought them back out to the living room and then sat down on the sofa.

"Aren't you going to take her?" he asked her in irritation.

She shook her head. "No. She's better off with you at this point," she replied, trying to hide the tremble in her voice.

He looked at Cuddy as if she was crazy. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I have to talk. You just have to listen. You are more likely to do that if you have her," she admitted, and when he then made a move as if to pick Rachel up and force her back into Cuddy's arms, not wanting to be manipulated, she held up a hand to ward him off and added, "I'm really close to falling apart here, House. She really is better off with you."

House sat back in his seat and frowned at her. "You are stronger than you think, Cuddy," he finally told her gruffly.

She shook her head, the first tears welling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. "Sorry," she mumbled in embarrassment, getting up quickly to go look for some tissues. She hurried to the bathroom and slipped within, closing the door softly behind her.

Sliding down the door until she was sitting on the floor, she felt her nose begin to run and looked around wildly for toilet paper, all the while trying desperately to bite back the sob that was making its way back up her throat. Spotting a roll, she crawled across the floor until she could reach it, tore off a wad, and mopped at her tears before blowing her nose.

House had seen the tears but he was honestly so bewildered by this that he didn't know whether his best bet would be to pretend he hadn't noticed or to acknowledge them and say something brash, hoping she'd toughen up. He hated when women cried. Really, how was he SUPPOSED to respond to that? He mentally thought back and then counted up the days. She had to be PMS-ing. The time was right. It fit. Her period would roll in like clockwork next week. He made a split second decision to ignore it. Holding a now sleeping Rachel a little closer so as to muffle his voice, he called out, "Cuddy, your pizza's getting cold."

If she heard him, there was no response. He waited a moment and then scrubbed at his face. He tried to think of what he should say. Getting to his feet rather awkwardly, he held the baby tightly to him and began the slow unassisted trek to his bedroom to lie her down on the bed. The kid was probably down for the count. Once he had finally made it there, he set her in the center of the bed, clearing everything from around her. He doubted she was capable of rolling yet, but all the same he grabbed the pillows and set them at what he deemed to be a safe distance away, while still close enough to hem her in from the edge of the bed. Straightening up, he tried to hop and shuffle his way back out of the room. Breathing heavier than usual, he stopped in the doorway, checked once more on the baby, and then shut the door. You didn't leave a light on for babies, did you? No, that was stupid. They'd just spend nine months in a dark womb. They could handle the dark.

Making his way back down the hallway, he paused in front of the bathroom door, listening. He heard Cuddy sniffling softly and then blowing her nose. Annoyed at how the sound tugged at his chest he tried to brush it off and walk away. But he hadn't taken two steps before he was turning back to the door. He sighed deeply and then cajoled, "Come on Cuddles. Don't make me eat alone." When there was no response he made his way back to the living room, this time sinking into the sofa to elevate his leg on the coffee table and wait her out. His stomach grumbled and he reached for a slice of pizza, taking a bite.

Cuddy hoped that she had finally pulled herself together. She used the facilities, ran some cold water over her face, and then headed for the door. But then the laundry hamper caught her eye and she couldn't help but be drawn to it. Lifting the lid, she reached within, searching for one of his t-shirts. If that was all the comfort she could take from him for the time ahead, that's what she'd settle for. Finding a shirt right near the top, she pulled it out and smelled it, inhaling the scent of him. Somehow mollified, she removed her own shirt, resting it on top of the hamper and then tugged his over her head, turning to inspect her image in the mirror. She wondered if her face wasn't so blotchy still from crying and the circumstances were a little different, if he would look at her and find it incredibly sexy, seeing her in his shirt. She toyed with the thought of using his attraction to her to her favor. Somehow that gave her the boldness she needed to open the door and make her way back to him, tear-streaked face and all.

House glanced up when he heard the bathroom door finally open. He finished his slice and grabbed another, taking another bite while waiting. Cuddy came into the light and he suddenly started to choke on his pizza. She rushed to his side, slipping a pillow underneath his elevated foot to stop it from hitting the table hard each time he coughed before sitting down next to him and rubbing his back, waiting for him to either stop choking or reach the point where he couldn't cough anymore and she would have to perform the Heimlich. Thankfully his throat seemed to clear and she passed him his drink to help him wash out his airway. "Are you okay?" she asked in concern, her face inches from his.

After taking a few ragged breaths, he sat back and away from her, trying to obliterate the smell of her perfume from his senses, along with the memory of her hand on his back. "What are you…I…Why are you wearing my shirt?" he finally managed, his voice stern.

She drew away from him but this time she was more in control of herself. The shirt was indeed helping her. "I needed it," she told him defensively.

"What was wrong with your shirt?" he argued, motioning towards the bathroom.

"Nothing. But I needed this one," she shot back. Looking around, she failed to see Rachel anywhere. Turning to him, she changed the topic, "Where is my daughter?"

He stared at her a moment, trying to keep his eyes on hers. She was throwing him off his game by returning clad in his t-shirt. She looked incredibly hot in it for some unknown reason and he was suddenly afraid he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. He'd already been rejected enough by her in the last week. It wasn't going to happen again. He firmed his resolve, concentrating on a spot on the wall across the room just to the side of her head. "She's fine, Cuddy. I set her on my bed. She's sleeping."

She wanted to ask how he'd managed to get her in there without falling but held her tongue. She nodded and then suddenly turned, sinking into his side. He looked at her, feeling like he was losing the battle for all restraint as her womanly softness contrasted with his masculine physique. "Can't you go sit over in that chair?" he asked harshly, jutting his chin out in the direction of the chair he had been sitting in before she left for the bathroom.

She turned to him, her breath now sharing the same oxygen supply he was. It made him feel slightly intoxicated. "No," she stoically informed him, drawing even closer.

"You don't get to do this, Cuddy!" he shouted, giving her a slight shove away from him. "I am mad at you!"

"No you aren't," she replied furiously, getting to her feet only to straddle him a moment later. "You are just ticked off because you want me."

And neither one of them was sure who made the first move but suddenly their mouths were crashing hungrily against one another, his hands coming up to grip her waist and hers wrapping themselves in his hair. He licked the salt of her tears from her lips and then when her tongue came out to wage battle, he allowed her access, helpless to stop the kiss from continuing. Cuddy could taste the pizza on his tongue and couldn't help moaning into his mouth as she delved deeper, trying to figure out where it ended and his savor began. House tugged her shirt up enough to find her skin with his fingers and she moaned into his mouth as they started to skim over her sides. Suddenly he wrenched her mouth from his as he pushed her back, working to catch his breath at the same time.

She glared at him and after breathing heavily for a moment, managed to spit out, "You don't get to reject me, House! Not when I'm here. Trying."

He stared at her a moment and then, one hand resting on her shirt-clad belly to keep her at a distance, he met her eyes and softly said, "Yeah, well you rejected me first. I guess now we both know what it feels like." Looking away, he waited for her to climb off of him. She slowly did just that. He missed her as soon as she did.

Sighing, she raked a hand through her curls and then sank down on the floor at his feet. Placing a hand on his knee, she looked up at him. "Will you at least hear me out?"

"Come on, Cuddy! How will listening to you make any difference? Whatever there was between us is over and done with!" he lashed out, his walls springing back into place.

"That's not true!" she yelled back. She suddenly had the steel within her to fight for this. Even if she had to fight HIM for this.

"It is true!" he angrily replied. "And quit yelling or you will wake the baby!"

She heard but chose not to respond to the last part, instead focusing her attention on the wall he was throwing up. Angry tears started to course their way down her cheeks but she didn't care. "Prove it then," she challenged and then she stood up in front of him and yanked the t-shirt off, standing there before him in her pearl necklace, lacy pink bra and jeans.

House instantly averted his eyes from all the smooth, creamy skin before him, calling for his caresses. "Cuddy, put the shirt back on," he whispered hoarsely.

"No," she defied him, her voice clear. "You have spent years of your life teasing me, provoking me with sexual banter and sexual tension. And I have spent years resisting the desire to be back in your arms, afraid that it would only end up as another one night stand between us. You want to call it all quits. Fine. But I want one last night with you. I REFUSE to leave with nothing to show for this night. At least give me that House."

"This is a mistake, Lisa," he said then, his voice surprisingly sad as he continued to look away from her.

"You want me House. Even if all you want is my body. Take it then. I am offering it up to you," she answered, her voice steadfast.

He looked at her then but focused on her face. Reaching blindly for one of his crutches, he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring his toe, his eyes never leaving hers. "Cuddy, I can't deny the sexual chemistry between us."

"Take it then," she repeated, her mouth set in a firm line, her eyes searching the depths of his blue orbs.

He finally shook his head, reaching for her cheek and caressing it. "I'd never be satisfied with a one night stand with you. I want more than that." There, he'd said it. The truth was out.

Cuddy closed the distance then, pressing her lips to his in a chaste, bittersweet kiss before she then sank down on the sofa, picking up the shirt she had only moments before stripped from her body and pulling it on over her head. Reaching for his hand, she gave a gentle tug and waited for him to sit back down beside her. Curling into his side, she asked, "So what do we do?"

"I don't know," he admitted ruefully before rolling his eyes and scrubbing one hand over his face. "I don't think this night has gone the way either of us expected it to."

"But you still want to kiss me?" she asked him then, her voice hopeful.

He looked down at her, his forehead crinkling as if to say that it was obvious. "Cuddy, I ALWAYS want to kiss you."

She smiled then and reached up to stroke his cheek. "You called me Lisa before."

"Cuddy, please don't try to jump my bones again," he asserted. "There's got to be some way we can work through this without resorting to sex. I have no doubts that the sex would be great. But afterwards we'd be back where we started. And maybe a little worse for wear."

She got to her feet and smiled happily. Grabbing a breadstick, she took a large bite and then nodded her head before she turned and walked down the hall to check on the baby.

House's cell phone went off and he reached for it. "Yeah? What was it?"

Cuddy heard the murmur of his voice as she peeked in on Rachel. The baby was sprawled out, one arm up, fist level with her head. She smiled and smoothed back the baby's soft hair before turning to leave. Rachel would be out for the rest of the night. She had finally gotten into a nice sleeping pattern.

"Alright. That's really all you can do for tonight. Go home. I'll see you in the morning," she heard House say.

Hitting a button to disconnect the call, he watched as Cuddy came back towards him, shutting the bedroom door behind her. But she caught him off guard when she sashayed right out his apartment door. He sat up a little straighter, staring at where she'd just gone.

A moment later she returned, only to grab a piece of pizza and head back out. "Sorry. I'm hungry," she apologized. The door once again closed behind her. Getting to his feet, he raised an eyebrow and waited. A minute or so later there was a knock. He grabbed his other crutch and hobbled his way to the door. Opening it, he just stared at her.

"Could I come in?" Cuddy inquired, her expression somber, though he thought the little bit of sauce at the corner of her mouth distracting him and making him want to taste it from her mouth certainly didn't help the seriousness she was aiming for. She had apparently polished off that slice of pizza while in the hallway.

He paused for a moment but then pushed the door open wide. Realizing what she was trying to do, he couldn't help himself. He looked her up and down and sarcastically quipped, "You came all the way over here in the middle of winter without shoes and a coat?"

Stoically she shrugged and said, "It was more important that I talked with you as soon as possible."

He laughed at her and she slugged him in the chest. "Shut up House, I'm trying to correct the mess we've made of things!"

"Sorry," he muttered, rubbing his ribs.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked then, reaching out concernedly to trace a hand along his belly.

"Cuddy!" he warned, trying to get things back on track. "If you keep touching me, we'll never get anywhere!"

"Alright! Geez!" she grumbled, squaring her shoulders and stepping past him.

"It's kind of late, Cuddy. And I've had a long day. What did you need to talk to me about?" he managed to say, shaking himself when he realized his eyes had fallen to her derriere as she walked around him and into his living room.

Cuddy saw his expression and realized what had happened. Biting back a smile, she waited until he was standing in front of her. Taking a deep breath she said, "House, I would really just like an opportunity to explain myself to you. I don't expect that you will be able to forgive me. I probably don't deserve it. But I…I hope you might anyway."

She looked up into his face but his eyes were looking down and at something slightly to the side of her. She glanced down and then realized she had unconsciously lifted her hand and was even now stroking his forearm. "Sorry," she mumbled, dropping her hand to her side.

He met her eyes then and waited. Impatiently she inquired, "Well, can I explain myself to you or not?"

"Oh," he said, shaking himself out of his stupor. He took a moment to put himself back together. Finally he rolled his eyes and said, "Fine, whatever. Just get it over with. Porn doesn't watch itself."

She glared at him momentarily, watching his mouth twitch in amusement at his own statement. She wanted to wipe that look right off his face but resisted. When she was back in control, she nodded and began. "I…I wanted you there Friday."

"I know," he admitted shrewdly, interrupting her.

"Will you just let me finish?" she huffed irritably.

"Oh. Yeah. Continue," he muttered, thinking this was probably not how she imagined her confession to go.

"I wanted you there, but I was afraid."

"That I'd do or say something to ruin it?" he asked, knowing the reason why without being told, although chagrined nevertheless. She nodded. "I can't blame you for that," he reluctantly admitted. "I was almost relieved when you took back the invitation for the same reason. But mostly, my ego was bruised and I felt like when you said I was a part of your life for good or bad, what you really were thinking was that I weighed more heavily in the bad than the good."

"You felt like I was rejecting you," she expounded. When he went to deny it, she put a hand out to touch his arm gently. "House, you already said I was the one who rejected you first." He met her gaze but didn't say anything, incredibly uncomfortable talking about his feelings and admitting that he had indeed felt rejected.

After a moment, Cuddy said, "I wanted to re-invite you. I was going to when we were both standing at the door. But…I don't know. I felt stupid. Who invites someone only to un-invite them and then re-invite them all over again? And when our eyes met, it was like the moment got choked up by my foolish pride and then you were walking away and I felt helpless to right the wrong I'd done you."

He nodded, understanding. How often did he say entirely the wrong thing to her, only to find himself wanting to undo it but unsure as to how to go about that? Unable to help himself any longer, he reached out and used a finger to wipe the corner of her mouth. Then he brought it to his lips and licked the sauce off.

Cuddy watched him and then gulped before shaking herself. "Can you not do that?" she huffed.

He shrugged and said, "What? I didn't lick it off your face. I showed restraint. It was bothering me. Besides, it's good sauce."

Her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly and she rolled her eyes. That made him smile.

"If you knew that I really did want you there, why didn't you just come anyway?" she questioned then, her voice hushed.

He shrugged. "At first I thought I would come anyways. And then I don't know. I suppose I was too proud to come when you had said you didn't want me. Knowing that you might actually want me to come didn't fix the fact that you were unable to tell me so."

"You are an idiot," she told him softly.

House stuck his tongue out and petulantly said, "Takes one to know one!"

She quirked an eyebrow at him before saying, "I can live with that assessment."

House sobered and though he tried to sound like her answer didn't really matter, finally asked, "Why didn't you open the gift?"

She took a deep breath. "I don't think you understand how guilty I felt about Friday. I was convinced that I had been awful to you and hurt one of the people I…cared most for."

"Cuddy, you probably feel guilt regarding the bugs that smash on your windshield when you are driving. Of course, you felt guilty about Friday," he told her condescendingly.

She frowned at him and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say he couldn't help it. The truth was the truth. "I'm not THAT bad," she replied.

"You are THAT bad, actually," he confirmed.

"Anyway," she said, tossing her hair as she continued. "When I came in Monday, I saw the gift and knew immediately that it was from you. I didn't understand. You aren't one for gifts. And so I couldn't help but question your motives." He met her eyes with a look that clearly said she always expected the worst from him. Her eyes grew wide and she defended herself. "In this case I was wrong! So sue me!" Shoving a finger into his chest, she said, "You and I both KNOW that it only made sense that I'd question your motives. You'll do just about anything to get out of clinic duty!"

House scratched the back of his head before pointing out, "Cuddy, your apologies SUCK!"

"Yeah, well if I ever hear one from you, I'll be sure to let you know if you've done any better!" she testily replied.

"So you thought I was just buying a gift to get out of clinic duty?" he clarified.

"Well, or that you just wanted me to feel guiltier," she admitted hesitantly.

"Cuddy, your guilt sucks even worse than your apologies. Believe me when I say I was in no way motivated by a desire to increase your guilt. What did I have to gain from it?" he asked flippantly.

"House," she scolded, jabbing her finger repeatedly into his chest. "You KNOW you've used my guilt complex in the past to finagle something from me."

"Yeah, when you stole my parking spot and gave it to someone else, forcing me to risk collapsing on my way into work each morning!" he contended, knocking her hand away to rub at the spot.

She tossed her head argumentatively and scoffed, "Your application for handicapped parking CLEARLY stated that you could walk that distance!"

He laughed then and ruefully said, "Aren't you getting a little off topic?"

She squared her jaw, her eyes narrowing. "Because YOU are provoking me!"

"Well Cuddy," he continued, still laughing, "Using your guilt to restore my handicapped parking space is hardly the same thing as using your guilt to make you feel even worse about not wanting me at your kid's simchat bat! What would I even hope to accomplish by striving for that?"

"You expect me to be able to work out the twisted ways in which your warped mind thinks?" she asked incredulously.

House was clutching his gut one-handed in amusement, laughter rolling over him. "It was YOUR twisted mind that came up with that synopsis of my motives!"

Cuddy glared at him, not in the least amused. House tried to pull himself together. Then she spoke up, her tone reluctant to make another admission, "Well, I also kind of thought your gift might turn out to be something to further mock me for being hypocritical."

House looked away, his mind running with what she had said. His mouth twitched but other than that he remained silent.

"What are you thinking?" she finally asked, concerned that he might take that the wrong way.

He turned his attention back to her and then broke out in a smile. "I was just going over all the possible gifts I could have gone with if that had indeed been my aim."

"Argh!" she bit out. "House, you can be such a jerk!"

He chuckled, reaching out to touch her face gently. Regardless of what she'd just said and heartily believed at the moment, she was helpless to keep from leaning into his caress. A moment later House dropped his hand and then stilled. Once he had drawn his thoughts back to the conversation at hand he managed to quite somberly ask, "So, you were waiting for what? A confession of my intentions in giving not you, but your DAUGHTER, a gift for her simchat bat?"

"House," she contested coolly, "You don't care about Rachel. Your gift was meant to impress her mother, not her."

An eyebrow raised, he quietly questioned, "And how do you know what my feelings are regarding Rachel? Have you ever stopped to ask me or did I somehow volunteer that information unaware?" Her mouth opened to reply, but then she closed it, waiting. House continued, "And for that matter, I wasn't trying to impress anyone. Not you and not a baby who won't even fully appreciate that gift for years. If ever," he realized, sighing when it occurred to him that by now the night janitor might have already gone around emptying trash.

"Why do you say that? Of course she will appreciate it someday," Cuddy interrupted as she reached out to touch his shoulder, not understanding his sudden melancholy.

He rubbed his face hard in his hands and then looked away. "I chucked it in my trash after leaving your office. It's probably somewhere in a dumpster right now."

"Oh," she replied, shaking her head dismissively as her hand dropped back to her side. "No it isn't. When I went looking for you Kutner mentioned seeing a gift in your trash and I knew immediately what you had done. I grabbed it before the team could investigate."

"Well, I should probably thank you for that," he muttered.

"You probably should," she confirmed smugly.

"I'll add it to my To Do List," he informed her sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes but then looked at him briefly before looking away. "What are your feelings toward Rachel?" she hesitantly asked.

He looked sharply at her but then decided to answer honestly. "I don't have a problem with her. She's cute. She eats, sleeps, and poops. All those things that I expect a typical infant to do. And she doesn't talk back. That puts her in my non-annoying category."

She met his gaze and then softly said, "But how does that differ from Joy? When I was planning to adopt Joy, you were miserable to be around. You made my life a living nightmare."

He acknowledged her statement with a nod, looking away. "Cuddy, there's no excuse I can offer you that will justify how I acted regarding your intentions to adopt Joy. I can only tell you that for me, there was a big difference between you having a child via IVF versus adoption." He looked back at Cuddy, staring into her eyes, now pleading with her to try and understand what he was about to say. "Yes, a part of me was jealous of how this baby would upset your world and impact mine. And yes, maybe I worried that once you adopted her you'd feel like your life was complete and whatever we have been slowly moving towards, you would not desire anymore. But imagine how you would have felt if the person you loved suddenly decided they were going to adopt and there was nothing you could do to dissuade them. Even if you had no right to object to their decision, wouldn't you be terrified that you'd be incapable of accepting this child that was now such a big part of their life? Wouldn't you question whether you'd be capable of loving it, if things were ever to work out between that person and yourself? Sure, if it was their own child you could picture loving it as your own. Because it would have parts of the one you loved in it, tying you to that child even if it wasn't yours biologically. But a child that was neither their biological offspring, nor yours? That's where I had a problem with your desire to adopt Joy. And on top of that, at least with the IVF I was a part of it. But when it came to the adoption, you trusted Wilson more than me. I only found out after you already had gone through the process of getting approved, and only because Wilson got tired of me trying to figure out what he was hiding and let me follow him to you."

"You love me?" Cuddy interrupted, wonder in her voice.

"Is that all you got out of what I just said?" House deflected, breaking eye contact.

"No, but it struck me as the most important part of what you just said," she told him as she closed the distance between them and reached up to cup his face in her hands. He sighed in frustration but allowed her hands to continue stroking his stubble. She realized then that he had just made a very big admission but she hadn't replied one way or the other. Pulling his chin down until his eyes met hers, she whispered, "If you and Stacy would have had a child together, I would have been INCREDIBLY jealous. Probably not of the baby, but definitely of Stacy. However I would never have questioned my ability to love your child as my own, simply because I would have seen you in it and implicitly loved it. If you had a child and it wasn't yours, I don't know. I imagine I would have grown to love it, but it might not have come quite as naturally. Loving your own child, House, would be like loving you. It would be as natural as breathing."

The corners of his mouth turned up at her words. "So," he replied slowly, "you are saying that you, Lisa Cuddy, love me, Greg House?"

"Is that all you got out of what I just said?" she teased him, echoing his earlier sentiment. When he smiled, she pulled his face down until only a breath separated them. "I love you, Greg House. You obnoxious, narcissistic, proud, insufferable man." And then she pressed her lips firmly to his, sealing it with a soul-shattering kiss.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my plans to adopt. I'm sorry you had to find out through Wilson," she whispered seriously, after their lips parted for air.

"Eh," he muttered, shrugging it off. "I get it. I just didn't like it."

Stroking his cheek, she asked, "Do you think you could ever accept and love Rachel?"

House rolled his eyes. "Cuddy, I knew you wanted a baby. But I didn't really understand how much until you lost Joy. I saw you that night and I just…I knew if you were to adopt one day, I'd handle it much better than I just had. Rachel, well…in some way, shape, or form she completes who you are and who you are meant to be. I can see that now. And she brings joy to your life." Without realizing what he was saying, he concluded, "How could I not accept and grow to…feel something for someone who does that for you?"

Cuddy grabbed him in a swift bear hug, burrowing herself into his chest. House staggered with all his weight on one foot for a moment before regaining his balance. Then he tried to pry her off himself, uncomfortable with her sudden display of affection. "Do you think we can sit down now?" he deflected. "My leg is killing me and I'm really not supposed to stand so long now that I've fractured my toe."

Cuddy laughed and released him only to wrap herself under his right arm, replacing the crutch he had been leaning on. She slowly walked him back over to the couch and then waited until he sank down to sit beside him.

"Did you open the gift?" he asked softly, his eyes shifting uncomfortably around the room.

She bit her lip and then straddled him once more. "Sorry, I thought you'd assume that I had when I told you I rescued it from the trash."

"What is with you and climbing on top of me tonight?" he asked then, his voice gruff even if his hands had come up to hold her where she was.

"Don't you want to know what I think of your gift?" she asked then, one eyebrow raised.

"Actually, I kind of figured that out for myself when you jumped back on top of me," he murmured into her neck, after leaning forward to nuzzle her skin with his scruff, trailing a line of kisses from her ear to her collarbone.

"You are trying to distract me so I don't make a big fuss, aren't you?" she sighed, turning a bit to expose more of her neck to be administered the same treatment.

"What if I am?" he whispered, his breath tickling her ear before he gave her a love bite just below it.

Cuddy did her best to bite back a moan, but it escaped before she could.

"I think I am succeeding," he teased.

"Hah," she laughed. "I'm just letting you think that. It's me who has you right where I want you."

"Not funny," he huffed, pushing her so that she was no longer in contact with his chest but merely hovering over his knees, one leg still on each side of his.

"Aww," she mocked, "You're just upset that I've reeled you back into wanting me and you didn't get to hold out as long as you'd have liked to. You don't think I suffered enough," she teased, one hand out to trace lazy patterns on his chest and maintain contact.

"Yeah, well you don't play fair, dressing so that you look all soft and feminine, bringing the kid along, crying, seducing me by wearing my shirt, taking it off, then tricking me into replaying the whole evening just so that it could go more along the way you had meant for it to go," he complained sulkily.

She laughed and leaned forward placing her hands on the back of the couch to each side of the space he was sitting in, drawing her face close to his. "Believe me when I say that never in a million years would I have expected it to go as perfectly as it did once we started all over. And besides," she said, her tone turning sultry as she drew her mouth up alongside his ear, their cheeks almost touching as her chest now came into contact with his, "do you actually want to complain about my desire to seduce you?"

He groaned and then snaked his arms to lock right above her knees and draw her lower half closer once more, holding her tighter to his chest. "I won't even complain if you remove that t-shirt now," he finally managed to tell her.

She brought her face back so that they were eye to eye. "Something told me you would say that," she whispered breathily against his lips.

"Are you ever going to kiss me?" he whined impatiently.

She smiled, her eyes twinkling merrily. "I'm going to cash that check tomorrow," she informed him then.

He sighed but then answered, "Well, you wouldn't be an evil, cunning woman if you didn't."

"You love this evil, cunning woman," she whispered softly, her hands sliding around his neck and then into the hair at the nape of his neck to increase their contact even further.

"What's not to love?" he then bantered right back.

Her only response was to close the gap between their lips and meet his in an ardent kiss.


End file.
